


Gimme Some Oven (or the one where Brenda tries to make Sharon a rum cake for her birthday and things go terribly awry)

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ridiculous one-shot - Sharon comes home to find Brenda in an interesting state after trying, without success, to make a rum cake for Sharon's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Some Oven (or the one where Brenda tries to make Sharon a rum cake for her birthday and things go terribly awry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I tagged one of those silly 'questions' over on Tumblr with what I thought were some amusing throw-away tags. perplexedplatypus got wind of them and asked if I would write a fic based on my tags. I did it for her in part because I can never resist writing a drunk Brenda. Below is the question and then underneath it my tags. I tried to bring in at least some of the elements from each tag. Hope this at least makes people giggle.
> 
> Important OTP question: which one tries and fails to make a rum cake and winds up drunk and covered in flour, and which one comes home to find them in this condition?
> 
> #hands down it’s brenda who fails miserably at making the rum cake #everything including the damn cat is covered in flour #and sharon comes home to find Brenda singing at the top of her lungs in the bathtub #her reaction is to laugh her ass off #grab some bourbon and strip down to her panties #plant a fierce kiss on her drunk lover and join her in the tub #the next day brenda holds down joel while sharon gives him a good vacuum

Sharon knew there was something terribly wrong the moment she stepped through the door to the condo she shared with her diminutive blonde lover.

She’d had a hell of a day, stuck in the middle investigating a Vice detective who had decided to shoot first and ask questions later. It was like the wild west down there and to make matters worse she’d been called in on her birthday and her plans for waking late and making slow, sleepy love to Brenda all morning before migrating to the couch to indulge in a Star Trek Voyager marathon had been shattered by an idiot with a badge that Sharon secretly believed had come directly out of a cracker-jack box.

It was after seven before she’d wrapped up and all she wanted to do was to get home, kick off her ubiquitous stilettos, pour herself a stiff bourbon and kiss Brenda on the mouth.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it in shock, her eyes widening. At first glance it looked like someone from Property had broken in and proceeded to spread about 40 pounds of cocaine all over her living room. Sharon shook her head and let her stilettos fall to the ground.

“Brenda,” she called.

At the sound of a familiar voice, Joel, Brenda’s huge ginger tabby streaked through the hallway and skidded to a halt in front of her. He was making an odd mewling sound in the back of his throat and immediately flipped over onto his side and commenced licking his belly.

“What is it big guy, where’s your……” she stopped in mid sentence, “What is that smell?”

Rum. For God’s sake the cat smelled of rum and as she knelt down Sharon could see his head and ears were slicked back with something that looked like a combination of flour and was that seriously rum butter? He was caked in the stuff and there were white clumps of what Sharon could only guess was more flour and perhaps sugar stuck to his fur in a mangey piebald pattern.

Joel lifted his head and gave Sharon a beseeching stare before continuing to lick furiously at the fur on his belly.

“What the fresh hell?….”

Sharon stood up and walked gingerly down the corridor toward the kitchen. What she’d first thought was cocaine was actually baking flour and sugar strewn from one end of the hall to the other. As she rounded the corner she noticed a trail of paw-prints across the living room carpet, up over the back of the sofa ending in a staccato flurry on her beautiful cherry-wood dining table.

Too stunned to speak Sharon pushed her way through the swinging door that led to the kitchen and let out a surprised squeak. If she’d thought the living room was a mess her kitchen was at FEMA levels of disaster.

Her usually uncluttered island was littered in what looked like every baking utensil she owned. Metal bowls, measuring cups, two spatulas, a tin of flour and the sack from the pantry were strewn on every available surface. But it really was the flour. There were snowstorm proportions of it. On absolutely everything.

An overwhelming scent of burnt butter and sugar, and something sharper, alcohol, assailed Sharon’s nostrils. She tiptoed through the mess to the stove. It was hot to the touch and Sharon realized that Brenda had left the oven on. Like the island, the stove was covered in pots. Sticky brown goo was hardening on the bottom of her favorite saucepan and Sharon gingerly swiped her finger through it and placed it to her lips.

Definitely the remains of rum butter gone very, very wrong.

“Holy shit,” she exclaimed to the empty room.

Where the hell was Brenda?

Sharon made her way back toward the hall, intent on digging her cell phone out of her bag to track down her errant lover.

“Oh I do hope you’re out purchasing cleaning supplies my darling,” she muttered to herself as she stalked into the foyer, “although you’d do better to hire a hazmat unit.”

Before she could reach her bag Sharon stopped, short. In the three years they’d been living together Sharon had thought she’d heard everything but this was a first.

From down the hall, Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson was singing.

“DOWWWWNTOWWWWWN,”

The head of the Major Crimes Division of the LAPD was singing with incredible enthusiasm.

“THINGSS WILL BE GREAT WHEN YER………… DOWWWTOWNN”

“Oh God,” Sharon reflexively cringed.

Brenda was singing. And she was incredibly, staggeringly awful.

“DOWNTOWNNN”

And she could’t help herself, Sharon started to laugh. At first it was just a little giggle but as she listened to Brenda caterwauling from what sounded like the echoey chamber of the bathroom and watched Joel twitch and then streak around the room with each chorus, realizing that she herself was grinding sugar and flour into the floor, her giggles gave way to a heaving laughter that had her doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

“Shar?” Brenda’s voice travelled down the hall, “Izat you?”

“Where the hell are you?” Sharon wheezed and pulled herself upright using the wall as support.

“Yoo hoo, Imma in the bath. Y’all should come on in ‘ere…”

Sharon shook her head and strode to the liquor cabinet. If Brenda was drunk and in the bath there was no real reason for her to teetotal. She snagged a half full bottle of Maker’s Mark and a glass from the top of the cabinet, pausing only briefly to blow hard inside the bottom. Flour billowed around her head and she giggled again.

Sharon made her way to the bathroom as Brenda resumed singing. She slid inside. The interior was steamy and shadows danced on the wall. The overhead light was dimmed and Brenda had somehow managed to light a number of candles without burning down the condo and was splayed in their claw foot tub, arms hanging on either side, her blonde curls piled in a loose, riotous bun on the top of her head.

As she entered the room Brenda turned her chestnut eyes on Sharon and gazed at her owlishly.

“And YOU may find SOMEBODEEEE kind to help an UNNERSTANNN youuuuuuu”

“Petula Clark? Really?” Sharon queried and poured herself a generous slug of bourbon.

“La, la, la, an GUIDE YOU…”, Brenda slurred. “I kinna forgot the words, ‘cept….DOWNNTOWWWNN”

“Oh fuck me!” Sharon shook her head and grimaced.

Brenda smiled and fished around for the half finished bottle of rum on the floor next to the tub.

“Thingssss’ll be great when yer DOWWNN….”

“How did I not know this about you?” Sharon just stared at Brenda in wonder.

Brenda took a swig of the rum and Sharon arched her eyebrows. She rarely saw Brenda drink anything stronger than Merlot. But not tonight. Tonight, it seemed, Brenda had decided in all her wisdom to tie one on.

She drew in a huge breath and started up again, butchering Petula Clark and Sharon quickly unzipped and shucked her skirt, unbuttoned her blouse, letting it land in a heap on the floor. Without removing her undergarments, hell why not make this fun, she strode in two steps to the bath and leaned over and captured the blonde’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Brenda opened her lips, her tongue darting into Sharon’s mouth, flicking and teasing in a way that made Sharon’s body tingle. Without breaking contact she delicately lifted her leg over the lip of the tub and slid her body along the length of Brenda’s.

Water sloshed over the side and Sharon thought absently that a flood wouldn’t be the worst thing. At least it would wash away the flour that was currently clumping on the bathroom floor.

Brenda’s body was hot and Sharon could feel her arch her back, rubbing her breasts against Sharon’s, teasing her as she nipped along the brunette’s lower lip. She tasted rum and sugar and kissed her harder, exploring the blonde’s mouth as if it was their first kiss.

She finally pulled away, breathless, chest heaving and sank back against the end of the tub, shifting her body so that her legs entwined with Brenda’s. She grabbed the bottle of bourbon and took a long swallow. To tell with the glass. She wiped her mouth and smiled at her lover.

“What the hell happened tonight?”

“I was makin’ you a RUM CAKE.” Brenda said. She smiled and then it faded. 

“But a few things went wrong.”

“Only a few?” Sharon asked drily.

“I looked it up online. Y’know the recipe on this real great website called Gimme Some Oven,” she snorted. “Isssn tha funny? Anways I found it and there was a super loooong splanation about what the cake would look like in the end and it took forever to get to the recipe part. I started readin’, an it called for a LOT of rum. I thought, well you know I should maybe try it and so I had a lil bit first and then a lil more when I was makin’ the butter thing….” Brenda took a breath.

“Whaaa?,” she frowned at Sharon.

Sharon was shaking with laughter.

“It’s not funny. This is real serious. So I got confused with the directions and then Joel was runnin’ around and he sorta fell in the flour and I was chasin’ her,”

“Him,” Sharon murmured.

“An then the sugar tipped over and things started to get all burnt and I slipped and fell a lil bit and got a whole bunch of stuff in my hair so I thought, MAYBE, before you got back I would just have a quick lil bath and make it all better and finish the cake later.”

Brenda giggled and reached out and touched Sharon’s face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth in a gesture that was absolutely irresistible to Sharon. Then her face fell.

“I don’t think I can finish the cake tonight tho, Shar.”

“Oh really?” Sharon’s voice was mild. 

“I’m a lil bit drunk now. Rum really creeps up on a girl.”

“A little bit? You think?” Sharon laughed.

“I’m sorry Shar. I jus wanted to make somethin’ real nice for your birthday. You deserve it and yer always cookin’ such nice things for me. So I was tryin’….”

Sharon leaned over and kissed Brenda softly and then pulled the blonde into a wet embrace.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely in Brenda’s ear.

“Yer not mad, Sharon?” Brenda’s voice was soft, her breath spicy and Sharon shivered at the sound of her name on the tiny blond’s lips.

“I’m not mad. This has definitely been one of my more memorable birthdays. Really. I just want to take you to bed.”

“That’d be a waaay better present than me bakin’ you a cake.”

“I have no doubt,” Sharon replied. “We will have to do something about Joel tomorrow though. He’s an absolute disaster. I’m not sure how we’re going to get all the flour off of him.”

“Maybe I can hold ‘er down and you can try gettin’ it off with the vacuum?”

Sharon snorted. “You cannot vacuum a live animal, Brenda.”

“Not even if I hold ‘er real gentle ’n tight and you put the vacuum on the lowest setting.”

Sharon smiled and shook her head. She took her thumb and caressed it lightly along Brenda’s lower lip.

“Still inadvisable I’m afraid,” she leaned in close, “come on Sugar, let’s go to bed. We can deal with Joel and the damage from Hurricane Brenda in the morning.”

She pulled Brenda to her feet and helped her out of the tub, steadying her lover while she handed her a towel.

The candlelight gleamed off of her slick skin and Sharon ached to touch her, to run her hands lightly over the swell of her breasts, down her long, muscular legs, cup her wet sex in the palm of her hand.

Brenda caught Sharon’s hungry stare and pulled her blonde hair loose from it’s elastic, allowing the wet curls to drape over her shoulders.

“I just wanted your birthday t’ be somethin’ special.”

“Trust me, so far it’s been unforgettable.”

Sharon wrapped herself in a towel, oblivious of her ruined lingerie, and slung her arm around Brenda’s waist, gently steering her toward their bedroom.

“Downtown? Really?” she asked

“A’ course,” Brenda replied, “It’s a classic.”

“Not when you sing it it isn’t,” Sharon retorted.

“Are you sayin’ you don’t think my singin’ is all that great?”

“No,” Sharon mused, “I’m categorically stating that you are the worst singer in the entire state of California. Maybe even the world.”

“S’lucky for you that my mouth is so good at doin’ other things then .” Brenda sassed.

“Trust me, I’m counting on it.”


End file.
